By Hannah Stephings

I’m a completionist by nature. I was a studious kid who diligently did the extra reading, a timorous teenager who tolerated inappropriate bosses until a contract’s end, a young woman who stayed in failing relationships because I was not a quitter. I wore this martyrdom with pride; external praise was often framed in terms of ‘pushing through’ and ‘not giving up’. 

As a millennial, growing up in a time where opportunities felt precarious and precious, I internalised the idea that quitting was weakness; quitting was self-indulgence. Security was paramount – you must hold on and fiercely protect whatever you managed to grab. Is it any wonder that my generation has earned the moniker ‘Generation Burnout’?

Recently, the nagging voice in my head reached a full-throttle Munch scream, and I quit my prestigious master’s degree. A degree I’d worked towards for years but left me miserable, drained of all enthusiasm and drive. Quitting was saturated in shame and alarm, nights spent elevated and panicky, self-flagellating thoughts looping. Everyone is going to think that I’m such a weak waste of potential. I should have a proper career and a mortgage by now, not an incomplete degree! 

Despite the angst and uncertainty, quitting has been worth it. Finally, I’m overriding my completionist predisposition and acting in my own best interests. Quitting has taught me a lot. Here are the five lessons that I’ve learned. 

Quitting forces you into the worst-case scenario. [Spoiler: then you survive.]

You will survive leaving a dream job, a cherished relationship, or a city you believed you’d thrive in. The initial grief, fear, and disorientation in quitting may be devastating, but these emotions will not last forever. Day by day, as you acknowledge and process the pain, you adjust to a new reality. The intensity of these emotions will lessen, the existential mental gridlock of ‘what the hell have I done’ will ease, and then you realise, with a shock, that you’re doing it: you’re surviving the worst imaginable, the scenario that you used to have nightmares about. Gradually, you get closer to the other side of quitting, to the recognition that it is an act of bravery and empowerment. 

Quitting teaches you to trust your judgement.

In quitting, you often realise that you had a long-held inkling that something wasn’t right for you. It’s not worth ignoring little warning signs that your internal compass flags about a career opportunity, finishing a lauded bestseller, or about a potential fling just to please others or appear successful to the world. Listening to yourself and acting in accordance with your needs, rather than waiting for external permission to walk away or let go, is an act of agency and self-advocacy. I waited until I was physically immobilised by anxiety until I let myself acknowledge that I was extremely unhappy doing my degree. Listen to yourself, set boundaries, and name your own endings. 

Quitting is not a sign of lapsing morality.

Quitting does not mean you’re a lazy, maladaptive person. Choosing to leave an unhappy or unsatisfying situation is not a reflection of your moral worth, abilities, or talent. Abandon the prevalent attitude that you must hammer away at something tirelessly until something comes of it, regardless of how miserable it makes you. Take responsibility for shaping a fulfilling life through action rather than through passive resignation. 

Longevity is not a sign of success. 

Dogged commitment does not enshrine superior moral status. You do not need to wait until a relationship is at rock-bottom in five years’ time to finally leave, nor hold onto a job until the promised land of a promotion. You do not need to meet arbitrary temporal milestones before deciding something is unrewarding or making you unhappy. Obviously, the ability to walk away is skewered unequally across class, race, and gender lines. I am also not suggesting that you flagrantly burn bridges or abandon lovers or your lease without a thought; I’m simply saying let’s scrap the idea that time spent is equal to value. 

Reframe uncertainty as possibility.

Certainty can be suffocating. Feeling trapped and disempowered in a situation can be more immobilising and spiritually crushing than uncertainty, and the possible options and direction that comes through letting go can be freeing. There is a spaciousness that comes from quitting, a freedom and thrill that comes from walking away from that which does not serve you and instead taking steps towards a life that will. It may not look the way you’d pictured. Long-held dreams, beliefs, and expectations may be jettisoned. But you will uncover unexpected, revitalising opportunities and experiences in forging new ones. As the poet Mary Oliver says, we get “one wild and precious life”. You might as well go live it.